[ note ] this was actually meant to fulfil my weekly writing quota but it ended up kinda long? but then again i haven't posted anything here in a while so (shrugs) win-win i guess
didn't really edit; about 70% of this was written on a choppy bus ride on my phone (lol)
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the barefoot queen
(you keep on shooting for the stars –
what other choice do you have?)
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She's royalty in everything but in name.
Her smile holds a thousand secrets; her eyes speak the language of queens. With every step she takes, Luka commands attention, wields it to her advantage.
She could crush the world under her thumb, if she so wanted to. Could storm the castle, seize his crown, raise hell with thunder and lightning.
But she chooses not to.
'Kaito?' Luka brushes off her moth-bitten dress and stares him down coolly. He can't help the bubble of embarrassment in his chest, making him feel like a child in his expensive fabrics and too-shiny boots. 'What's the matter?'
'Nothing,' he says. It's a half-truth at best; there shouldn't be any problems in the first place.
A ripple of emotion surfaces on her features, smooth and unreadable, but before he can comment on it she's already looked away. The town square is quiet, save for the sound of running water coming from the centrepiece fountain.
It's not the first time Kaito has snuck out of the castle to meet her, but it's certainly a first for him to stay out this late. Hopefully no one sends a search party after him.
Luka walks along the edges of the fountain, her heart and feet stripped bare. She keeps her guard up around town – the ice girl, they whisper on the streets, she's cruel and heartless and chilling to the bone – but here she lets her walls come down, even just for a little while.
'The coronation is tomorrow,' Kaito says, breaking the silence and leaning against the side of the fountain. Luka tilts her head to show she's listening. 'I don't think I'm ready.'
Her expression crumples like waste paper. It's a look of affront, a look that doesn't suit her one bit. 'Why do you say that?'
It's phrased as a demand, not a question.
Kaito thinks about the home she comes from, the one that leaves bruises under her eyes and battle scars on her skin. Thinks about the way she carries herself, cool and self-assured despite her tattered clothes and poor upbringing. Says, with a quiet air of defeat:
'I'm not meant to be king.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Luka cuts in immediately. There's a concealed edge to her voice, one that slices through his doubts like the flick of switchblade. 'Of course you are.'
Kaito laughs, tired and uneasy. He doesn't want to fight her.
If you say so.
'I know you don't believe me, Prince Kaito, but it's true.' She hesitates for a long, hard moment. Raises a hand, and cups his cheek gently. 'You'll make a wonderful king.'
Kaito reaches up to clasp his hand over hers, leaning into her touch. It's small and rough and calloused – the result of a hard worker – but warm like the comforts of home. 'You're more a queen than the king I'll ever be.'
'Right.' Luka removes her hand and tilts her head, a piece of pink hair falling into her face. 'So you're cancelling the coronation, then. Since you're so... adamant about condemning your own faults.'
He doesn't speak. Doesn't dare to, not when her sharp tone has him pinned by the throat.
'This pussy-footing of yours is utter bullshit,' she tells him frankly. 'You're not helping anyone, least of all yourself. In a life-or-death situation, a split second's hesitation can cost dozens of lives, maybe a dozen more.'
Kaito hangs his head, thoroughly shame-faced. 'Of course.'
'Your thoughts and decisions matter to the kingdom, Prince Kaito.' Luka purses her lips. For a moment he wonders if she has another tirade up her sleeve, until: 'They – they matter to me.'
Ah.
It's not the first time Kaito has felt such a strong surge of affection towards her, but it's certainly a first for him to be this embarrassed. Hopefully Luka doesn't notice under the cover of nightfall.
'Thank you, Luka. Um.' He clears his throat awkwardly. 'It's getting late. I'll walk you home.'
Luka hums in acknowledgement, falling into step beside him with familiar ease. When she doesn't say anything else, Kaito glances over and realises the tips of her ears are tinged with red – not just from the cold, either.
Perhaps she could be regal in her manner of speech, if she so wanted to. Could cut you down to size, watch the world burn, leave you to drown in your own self-loathing.
But she chooses not to.
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end.